Control

I didn't have to lash out. I didn't have to scream at anyone. All my emotions that could hurt anybody went into my work. No one got hurt that way. I had no enemies, except those who I had outshone, obviously. My fingers stitched away at the cloth feverishly. I could have asked an avox to do it for me, but where was the fun in that? I could give them the patterns and have it made, but then it would just be a costume. No thoughts of feelings went into making it. I poured my heart into my work.

Indescribable

"Oh, that costume is gorgeous!" A woman wearing an overly large orange hat nudged excitedly at her husband, "Do you know who made it?"

Her husband flicked through the programme. District 12 was at the back, he held the page up for his wife to see, "It says it was made by Cinna, have you heard of him before?"

"No, he must be new. Well, he's certainly up for the job. His costumes are brilliant!"

"Yes, they are. See how the flames on their cloaks match the ones painted on the chariot?"

"He's a magnificent stylist. Those costumes are perfect!"

Nature

I could feel it inside. I was supposed to do this. It made me happy. I could finally give a little bit of my happiness to the tributes that were sent to their deaths year after year. I could make this work; I hoped I wouldn't be hated by the children who were sent to me. I really wanted to make them happy. This was second nature to them, they had grown up with the games; the risk that they would be chosen. I had grown up with the games too, but I would never have to enter the arena.

Nurture

He should have stayed in the family business. Buying land in the Capitol, building a set of offices or houses on it, and then selling it on. But no, his stupid mother had to teach him how to sew. He just had to love designing clothes. Why did she let him? I offered to get him a job in my company when he turned 18, and do you know what he said? "Sorry Dad, I want a job designing costumes for the Hunger Games." I hit the roof! Only girls wanted to design clothes! He was no son of mine.

Aftermath

What happened? I just remember Katniss waiting on the podium, and then the guards came in and…they beat me up? I wriggle my fingers and pain shoots up my arm, yes, they definitely beat me up. My head was pounding and I could feel scabs beginning to form on my face. It was no less than I had expected, the stunt I had pulled at the interviews was sure to make some people angry. I just hoped it hadn't affected Katniss, she could be dead. Dead. What I had done could have killed her, my stupid stunt. I was stupid.

A/N: Hope you liked this chapter :) Is it Capitol/secondary character enough for you? :P Please review xx